Mistaken Identity
by Sunrize
Summary: Ezra had drank, fought, and nearly died beside the man for over a year, yet now he had the uncomfortable feeling he'd only scratched the surface. A few printed lines on a page suddenly revealed a depth of mind and heart he'd never dreamed existed. Episode tag for Achilles.


"Good afternoon, Mr. Standish."

"Ladies." A tip of his hat and a wink set both lovely  
Claremont sisters to blushing. Amelia-or was it Rose, he  
could never remember who was who-clutched her sister's  
arm and giggled as they hurried past.

Ezra leaned against the porch railing, enjoying the warmth  
of the sun on his shoulders and the satisfying weight of a  
good meal in his belly. Now for some whiskey and a game  
of chance. The world had righted itself after the distressing  
turmoil of the last few days: Mr. Dunne was back in the  
sheriff's office and Big Lester Bangs had taken the last  
stage out of town. Ergo Ezra Standish could get back to  
what he did best-fleecing the marks in this town out of  
some cash.

He took a step off the boardwalk to cross the street but  
nearly collided with Mary Travis, who was carrying a large  
armful of papers. She gasped and stumbled backward, feet  
tangling in her long skirt, and would have gone down if  
Ezra hadn't caught her arm. As it was, several of the papers  
drifted to the ground.

"My apologies, Mrs. Travis." Ezra retrieved the fallen  
papers-copies of _The Clarion_-and brushed off the dirt  
before handing them to her. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's all right, Mr. Standish, I should have been more careful  
to look where I was going." She tucked a stray wisp of  
golden hair behind her ear. "I've been working all morning  
on this issue and I wanted to bring some copies over to the  
folks at the hotel as soon as possible. Keep one," she urged,  
accepted the rest from him. "It's hot off the press."

Ezra touched two fingers to the brim of his hat, watching her  
make her way into the hotel, passing out the newspaper to  
folks as she went. Couldn't be easy, keeping that little paper  
going in this deplorable backwater town. But the woman  
was nothing if not determined. Or how did Mr. Tanner put it  
in his oh-so-eloquent manner? Ah, yes-full of piss and  
vinegar. Such a way with words, their Vin. Ezra smirked and  
shook his head.

Speaking of which . . .

Ezra looked down at the paper in hands as a forgotten  
conversation popped back into his head.

_"Mary's putting some poetry in her paper, and, uh-"_

_"That's nice."_

_"I was wonderin' if, well, since you have such nice _  
_handwriting and all, would you mind, once you sober up . . . _  
_writing down my poem for me, all nice and pretty-like?"_

Ezra scanned the printed page, his smirk widening to a grin  
when he found the headline FIRST ANNUAL TERRITORY  
POETRY CONTEST. "Why, Mr. Tanner, I must admit you  
surprise me. I can only imagine what lyrical delights a man  
of your intellectual refinement has to share with us."

Locating Vin's offering-"A Hero's Heart"-among the other  
entrants, Ezra began to read . . . and stopped. Checked to be  
sure he had the right poem. And read it again, this time to  
the end.

"There's been a mistake."

He said it aloud, annoyed. He'd been prepared for a bit of  
hilarity, after all, not to be moved by a piece of writing that  
was simple and poignant and, well, lovely.

And there was simply no way Vin Tanner, who wore a  
buffalo hide coat, slept in a wagon, and had the manners to  
match, wrote it.

Clutching the paper in his fist, he turned and strode into the  
hotel. Mary broke off her conversation with the desk clerk  
when he waved her over.

"Is something wrong?" She studied his face.

Ezra inclined his head. "I regret to inform you that there is  
an error in your publication."

"An error?"

"One of the poems entered into your contest has been  
attributed to the wrong author. A situation I'm certain the  
true bard will find quite distressing."

Frowning, Mary shook her head. "I went over the copy very  
carefully. I'm sure you're wrong."

"I beg to differ, dear lady." Ezra pointed to the offending  
byline. "You've listed Mr. Tanner as the author of 'A Hero's  
Heart.'" He chuckled and shook his head. "I think we can  
both agree that a man whose normal method of expression  
involves phrases such as 'like lickin' butter off a knife' is  
hardly capable of composing verse of that nature."

To Ezra's astonishment, Mary's blue eyes turned cold and  
hard. "Let me assure you, Mr. Standish, that Vin Tanner is  
an accomplished poet. And as far as the poem in question?  
He recited 'A Hero's Heart' from memory to me, and I wrote it  
down for him."

Ezra opened his mouth but found he couldn't form words-  
an unusual occurrence. Mind racing, he darted his eyes  
between the printed words in his hand and Mary's angry  
face.

_"I was wonderin' if, well, since you have such nice _  
_handwriting and all, would you mind, once you sober up . . . _  
_writing down my poem for me, all nice and pretty-like?"_

_"You wrote a poem?"_

_"I knew I was wasting my time with you."_

Shame flushed Ezra's cheeks. He'd laughed when Vin had  
asked him for help transcribing his poem, so certain it would  
be no more than a joke. Undeserving of his time. And Vin  
had gone to Mary instead.

Not only gone to Mary but produced a piece of poetry more  
than worthy of a place in the contest. In fact, looking at it  
beside the other entries . . . Vin could _win_.

But what really left him reeling was the sudden realization  
that there was so much more to Vin Tanner than he knew.  
Ezra had drunk, fought, and nearly died beside the man for  
over a year, yet now he had the uncomfortable feeling he'd  
only scratched the surface. A few printed lines on a page  
suddenly revealed a depth of mind and heart he'd never  
dreamed existed.

"It appears perhaps I've been mistaken," he said aloud. It  
was meant to sound magnanimous, but somehow regret  
seeped in and choked the words.

"Yes. Yes you have." Mary studied his face. "And about  
more than just the poem, I think."

Damn the woman, always pushing just a little further,  
digging a little deeper. "Yes, well, I apologize for the  
confusion. If you'll excuse me, I . . . ah . . . have some  
important business I should attend to as soon as possible."

Mary tipped her head, a slight curve to her lips. "I  
understand, of course; don't let me keep you from it. I still  
need to finish delivering these copies."

Embarrassingly pleased that the ire had faded from her  
demeanor, Ezra headed for the door. He'd only taken a few  
steps, however, when she called after him.

"Wait a moment, Ezra."

He froze at the uncharacteristic use of his first name and  
slowly turned. "Ma'am?" A little startled, he saw her eyes  
were filled with sadness.

"I just wanted to say . . . I can guarantee you aren't the only  
one who hasn't bothered to look past a lack of education  
and that buffalo hide coat," Mary said quietly. "I doubt very  
much he's given whatever you did a second thought."

The truth of her words twisted and cut inside him like barbed  
wire. Ezra swallowed hard and met her gaze. "But I am not  
like all the others. Taking into account my, shall we say . . .  
profession, I believe I've developed certain skills beyond  
that of the common man. To that end, I consider myself a  
devoted student of human nature and an astute judge of  
character. In short . . . I expect more from myself." He sighed.  
"As should Vin."

"I'm not the way they see me, not who they think I am." The  
words were soft, barely audible, as if Mary were murmuring  
them to herself.

"What?" Ezra asked sharply.

She shook her head. "Never mind. The point is that we all  
have our secrets, the parts of us the world doesn't see. For  
instance, who'd believe Ezra Standish, the man only  
interested in something if it can turn a profit, would find  
himself consumed by making things right with a friend?"

Okay, now the infuriating busybody was going too far. "Mrs.  
Travis. Mary. I never said-"

She grinned-_grinned_ at him! "No, you never did. But it's  
getting late. I'd best let you get on with your important  
business."

"Likewise, I'm certain there are many good people in need of  
your excellent publication," Ezra agreed, ignoring the way  
she stressed "important business" and the twinkle in her  
eyes. "Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon. And Ezra?"

"Yes?"

"Say hello to Vin for me."

Any good conman has to recognize when he's beaten. Ezra  
touched two fingers to the brim of his hat and strode out of  
the hotel into the sunshine.

Bested by a woman. He arched an eyebrow, scanning the  
street. Since this day was already proving to be the  
equivalent of a pair of twos, he might as well go ahead and  
get the rest over with. Brushing a piece of lint off his red  
jacket, Ezra squared his shoulders and went to find Vin.


End file.
